What did you say?” Anna froze, feeling a chill inside. Sergey stood by the door, tightly clutching a bunch of keys. His normally lively face had frozen into a mask of irritation.

“I can’t live like this anymore,” he repeated in a tone devoid of emotion. “Neither can I, nor mom. Pack up the kids and move to Lipovka. Grandma’s house is still standing, the roof intact. You’ll survive somehow.”

Anna looked at him as if he were a stranger. Ten years of life together, three children—and such a verdict. A dying village, where only a few houses remained, with no shops and even decent roads.

“Why…” she began, but she was interrupted.

“Because I’m tired,” Sergey looked away. “Of the constant reproaches, of the endless whining, of you just sitting at home with the kids. Mom is right: you’ve become a hen. I don’t recognize the woman I once married.”

Tears welled up in her throat, but Anna held them back. The children were sleeping behind the wall—Masha and Alyosha, and the eldest, Kirill, probably heard everything.

“Where will I work? What will we live on?” her voice was barely audible. Sergey threw an envelope on the table.

“There’s some money for the first time. And the house documents—it’s been in your name for a long time. If you’re so independent, prove it now.”

He turned around and, without uttering another word, left the room. A minute later, the front door slammed.

Anna slowly sank into a chair. One nonsensical memory spun in her head: “I baked his favorite apple pie. For breakfast.”

The house greeted them with a musty cold. Anna entered, holding sleepy Masha in her arms, and felt her heart squeeze. Her childhood had passed here—summer visits to her grandmother, the smell of fresh bread, herbs in the attic, apples in the cellar. Now it was just dust, cobwebs, and a taste of abandonment.

Kirill, serious beyond his years, went inside and flung open the shutters. Through the dirty windows, rays of April sun broke through, illuminating the dust motes in the air.

“It’s cold here,” complained Alyosha, wrapping his arms around himself. “We’ll light the stove soon, it will get warmer,” Anna tried to sound confident. “Kirill, will you help mom?” The boy nodded, not looking at her. He had been silent all the way since he heard the last conversation of his parents.

Fortunately, the old stove was in working order. As the flames began to lick the birch logs and the room filled with warmth, Anna felt a little more relaxed.

“Mom, are we staying here long?” Alyosha asked, examining old photographs on the wall. “I don’t know, baby,” she honestly replied. “Let’s settle in, then we’ll decide.”

They spent the first night all together in grandma’s wide bed. The children quickly fell asleep, exhausted by the move. And Anna lay awake, staring at the ceiling, pondering what had brought her to such a fate.

In the morning, freeing herself from the embrace of the sleeping children, she went out into the yard. The plot was overgrown with weeds. The apple trees, once bearing rich harvests, now stood gnarled, with broken branches. The old barn was leaning, and the well was covered with moss.

Anna surveyed her new domain and, unexpectedly for herself, laughed bitterly, desperately. Here it was, her inheritance. Her new beginning.

The first days in the village seemed like an endless nightmare. Each morning she woke up hoping to find herself in the apartment, to hear the noise of the coffee machine and Sergey’s voice.

“Mom, when will dad come for us?” Masha asked, accustomed to Sunday walks with her father. “Soon, little one,” Anna replied, not knowing how to explain what she herself did not understand.

The phone was silent. Sergey ignored her calls. Once, a brief message came: “You have everything you need. Give me time.”

Time. What was he hoping for? That he would realize how bad it was without his family? Or, conversely, that he would completely erase them from his life?

By the end of the first week, it became clear that the money Sergey left would not last long. The stove needed repairs, the roof needed fixing, and food had to be bought. But the worst discovery was that there simply was no work in the village.

“Maybe we should return to the city?” suggested Polina Ivanovna, one of the few neighbors in Lipovka. Anna shook her head: “There’s nowhere to return to. But here, at least, there’s a roof over our heads.”

That day she decided to clear the garden. The land, neglected for years, was overgrown with weeds, but Anna remembered how generous her grandmother’s plots had been.

“Kirill, can you help?” she addressed her eldest. The boy just nodded, still silent and aloof.

They worked together, pulling out weed roots and breaking up heavy clumps of earth. Hands, accustomed to light housework and the computer keyboard, quickly became covered with calluses. By evening, her back ached, and her shoulders hurt as if seized by a cramp. But they had managed to clear only a small patch of land.

“Ma,” Kirill unexpectedly broke the days of silence. “Why are we doing this?”

“To plant vegetables: potatoes, carrots, tomatoes,” Anna began to explain.

“No, I mean something else,” the son interrupted. “Why are we even here? Why don’t we return home? What happened between you and dad?”

Anna straightened up, wiping sweat with the back of her hand. How to explain the truth to a child? Admit that his father had abandoned them? Tell him about the long-standing grievances of Sergey’s mother, who always considered her unworthy of her son? Or admit that he might have another woman?

“We need time to think it all over,” she cautiously answered. “Sometimes adults need to be apart to understand…”

“To understand if they love each other,” Kirill finished for her. His voice carried such mature bitterness that Anna’s heart clenched. “Is it because of that lady? The one who was at our party?”

Anna froze. Valeriya—tall, elegant, Sergey’s companion. “Just a colleague,” he had said when she suspected him of coming home too late.

“Perhaps,” she honestly admitted. “But remember: dad loves the three of you. And I… I will do everything possible to make it good for you, even here.”

Kirill looked at her intently, then suddenly stepped forward and hugged her. His embrace was strong, almost manly.

“We’ll manage, mom,” he confidently said. “You and me. And we’ll definitely raise the little ones.”

That night, after the children fell asleep, Anna sat by the window for a long time, gazing at the stars—large, bright, nothing like the city ones. For the first time since moving to Lipovka, she felt not despair, but a strange inner peace. As if the earth under the old house was giving her strength.

From that day on, she worked in the garden every day, now together with Alyosha and Masha. The children, who had been fussy before, suddenly became excited about the idea of creating a “special harvest.” Masha even made a plan for the future garden, where flowers had to grow between the beds—”to make it beautiful, like in a park.”

One day, the shovel suddenly hit something hard, making a metallic sound.

“A root?” guessed Alyosha, approaching closer.

Anna carefully cleared the dirt with her hands and froze. In her palm shone a round object the size of a coin, but more massive and clearly ancient. She wiped it on her jeans, clearing it of dirt, and saw a man’s profile—possibly a king.

“Mom, is it a treasure?” Masha whispered in awe, peering over her shoulder.

“I don’t think so,” smiled Anna. “Just an old coin. Maybe grandma accidentally lost it once.”

But an inner voice whispered that Grandma Vera was too meticulous to lose coins in the garden.

The coin went into her pocket, and work continued. Half an hour later, the shovel clanged against something hard again. This time they found three coins, similar to the first.

By evening, their collection had grown by twelve findings, scattered across the cleared plot.

After the children fell asleep, Anna took out the coins and spread them on the table. Under the lamp light, she carefully examined the dates—1897, 1899. The imperial era, she guessed. A golden imperial? She vaguely remembered grandpa’s stories about these rare coins.

She spent the night sleepless, pondering the find. If these were really gold, how much could they be worth? Where did they come from? And most importantly—was there more?

The next morning, she called the only person who could help—Uncle Viktor, her father’s brother, living in the neighboring district center.

“Uncle Vitya,” she began uncertainly. “I found old coins on Grandma Vera’s plot. They’re yellow, heavy, with a profile…”

“Golden emperors?” he interrupted, and his voice filled with excitement. “Anya, are they really them?”

“I don’t know, Uncle Vitya,” she answered. “But they seem gold…”

“Stay home,” he said sternly. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ll be there in three hours.”

He arrived right on time, driving up to the house in an old “Niva.” Bearded, in a worn jacket, but with lively eyes. Anna hadn’t seen him for three years, since Aunt Lena’s funeral.

Uncle Viktor took one coin, turned it in his hands, and even checked it with his tooth.

“Gold,” he declared. “And not just gold, but a real collectible value. Anya, do you even realize what you’ve found?”

She shook her head.

“It’s a treasure, a real treasure,” he announced, sitting down. “Each coin is worth a lot of money. And if there are more…”

“Where did they come from?” Anna wondered. “Grandma never had gold.”

Viktor smirked.

“Don’t you know? But how could you… Your grandma Vera married a local guy, Ivan Krasnov. But before that, she belonged to another family—the Levitskys. Before the revolution, they were wealthy, owned a mill and a large estate. When the Bolsheviks came, old Levitsky, they say, buried all his savings somewhere on his land. And then they shot him as a kulak. Only his daughter, your great-grandmother, was spared because she was a child.”

“And no one looked for this gold?” Anna was surprised.

“Of course, they did,” Uncle replied. “There were legends about the Levitsky treasure. Just no one knew the exact place. There was a lot of land after all.”

Anna frowned:

“But why did this land end up with Grandma Vera?”

“After the war, when they were creating collective farms, the land was redistributed. Vera, as a direct descendant of the Levitskys, was allocated this plot—the very one where we’re sitting now. Maybe someone in the village council knew the family history.”

At that moment, the children, playing in the yard, made a noise. Kirill was digging under an old apple tree, and from Masha’s excited screams, it was clear—they had made a new discovery.

By evening, the table held twenty-eight gold coins, a massive church cross, and three elegant gold pendants with precious stones.

“What now?” Anna asked thoughtfully, looking at the treasures.

Uncle Viktor stroked the stubble on his chin:

“By law, you’re obliged to report the find to the state. You’re entitled to a reward—up to half the value. But…”

“But?” she repeated.

“If we go by the scattered coins, the treasure is extensive. Archaeologists might come, dig everything up, and compensation will be paid out slowly. And there’s no guarantee they’ll value it correctly.”

Anna looked at the glittering gold in the lamp light. Each coin carried a history that had survived the revolution, war, and the Soviet era. This treasure could completely change her life and her children’s lives.

“I need to think,” she said quietly.

Uncle left, promising to keep the secret until she made a decision. Before leaving, he connected her with an antiquarian from the regional center who could evaluate the find confidentially.

“Alexander Petrovich is reliable,” he assured. “He doesn’t ask too many questions.”

Two days later, Anna was in the small office of an antique shop, watching an elderly man carefully examine one of the coins through a magnifying glass.

“Gold imperial from 1897, excellent preservation,” he muttered. “In the market now… well, at least three hundred thousand per piece. Considering the collectible value…”

Anna’s head spun. Three hundred thousand per one coin? And she had over thirty already, and that was just the beginning.

“For the whole set you showed me, I’m ready to offer ten million,” the antiquarian said, putting away the magnifying glass. “Cash. Right now.”

Ten million. An amount that could solve all problems. Buy a house in a cozy town, ensure a good education for the kids, forget about financial worries for years to come.

“I need to think,” she replied, though an inner voice screamed: “Agree!”

On the way back to Lipovka, she couldn’t stop thinking about the antiquarian’s offer. Was it legal? Was it ethical? And if there were more treasures hidden on the plot?

In the evening, Sergey called—the first call in almost two weeks.

“How are you there?” he asked coldly, without his usual warmth.

“Fine,” she replied, trying to maintain calm. “The kids miss you.”

Pause.

“I miss them too. Maybe I’ll take them for the weekend?”

“Without me?”

“Anna,” his voice tinged with irritation, “don’t start. I want to see my kids. It’s not up for discussion.”

She took a deep breath to calm down.

“Fine. When will you come?”

“Friday after work.”

After a short conversation with the children—Masha cried, hearing her father, Alyosha talked about the garden, and Kirill remained laconic—Sergey spoke to her again:

“Listen, mom wants to sell the cottage. She’s offering you to move there. Closer to the city, to civilization…”

Anna felt anger boiling inside her.

“So first you kicked us out of the apartment, and now you’re offering charity from your mother?” she asked quietly. “Thanks, but we’re comfortable here.”

“What does ‘comfortable’ mean?” Sergey was surprised. “You’re in an abandoned village with three kids, no job, no future…”

“I have a future,” she answered. “And I’ll find work. Don’t worry.”

She didn’t understand why she lied. Maybe pride didn’t allow her to admit he was right. Or maybe the gold coins, hidden in a tin can, gave her confidence.

“Alright, decide for yourself,” Sergey said after a pause. “Just think of the kids. They need a normal life, school, friends…”

“And they don’t need a father?” she couldn’t hold back. “Or is your new woman so good she’s ready to replace their mother?”

Sergey sighed:

“So, Kirill told you… Anna, it’s a complicated situation. Valeriya has nothing to do with it. We’re just different people. I’m striving forward, and you…”

“And what about me?” she interrupted. “Became a housewife because you insisted on a third child? Left my career because your mother thought a successful businessman’s wife shouldn’t work? Or because my literature teacher’s salary seemed ridiculous next to your income?”

“Let’s not,” Sergey said tiredly. “I’ll be there for the kids on Friday at six.”

After the conversation, Anna sat on the porch for a long time, staring at the stars. She didn’t feel the pain that had tormented her in the first days of separation. Instead, a firm determination was growing inside her.

In the morning, she took up the shovel again. By evening, they had found five more coins. And then, while digging a spot for a compost heap, Kirill stumbled upon a metal object.

It was an old safe—rusty but still sturdy. Together—Anna, Kirill, and two neighbors called for help—they managed to extract it from the ground.

“Such safes were used in stores,” noted Uncle Kolya, a former blacksmith. “A reliable thing, German-made.”

The lock didn’t give in right away. They had to call Uncle Kolya again, this time with a grinder. When the massive door finally opened, Anna asked the neighbors to leave, lying about possible dangerous finds inside—weapons or wartime ammunition.

Inside were canvas bags. Dozens of small knots the size of a fist. The first one she untied with trembling hands was filled with gold coins. The second contained the same. The third—jewelry with precious stones.

“Mom, are we rich now?” Alyosha asked in astonishment, examining the shiny items with wide-open eyes.

“I don’t know,” Anna honestly answered. “But we definitely have opportunities.”

That night she didn’t sleep a wink, weighing her options. Sell everything secretly through the antiquarian? Report to the state and get a lawful share? Or was there a third way?

In the morning, she called Uncle Viktor.

“I found a safe,” she started without preamble. “There’s an incredible amount of valuables inside. But I don’t want to sell everything at once. And I don’t want to break the law.”

“What are you suggesting?” Uncle asked cautiously.

“I want to open a small museum here in Lipovka. A museum of the Levitsky family history. With part of the exhibits from the treasure.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“Are you serious?” he finally said. “Anya, there are millions there! Maybe even tens of millions!”

“I know,” she agreed, though he couldn’t see her. “And I will officially declare the find. I’ll get my share—that will be enough for a life and education for the kids. And the rest… The rest should stay here. In this land. Maybe it will attract tourists and help revive Lipovka.”

“You’re crazy,” Uncle Viktor sighed. “But damn brave crazy.”

On Friday evening, exactly at six o’clock, Sergey’s black SUV pulled up to the house. The kids, already gathered and excitedly thrilled, ran out to meet him.

Sergey looked tired and lost. He hugged the kids, kissed Masha, ruffled Alyosha’s hair. Kirill, however, greeted him coldly, challenging his father with his gaze.

“Hello,” Sergey nodded to Anna when she came out onto the porch. His gaze lingered on the house. “Did you start renovations?”

Anna followed his gaze. Indeed, in the last few days, the old house had transformed: new shutters made by Uncle Kolya, a painted porch, cleaned paths, neat beds in the yard with the first sprouts.

“A little,” she shrugged. “We need to live somehow.”

Sergey shuffled from foot to foot, clearly embarrassed by the changes.

“Mom, can we show dad our treasure?” Alyosha suddenly suggested, and Anna tensed, throwing a warning glance at her son.

“What treasure?” Sergey was surprised.

“Just a children’s one,” she quickly made up. “Found an old box in the barn. There are Soviet badges, old coins. A real treasure for them.”

Kirill looked at his mother intently, then shifted his gaze to his father:

“Dad, is it time to go? You probably have plans.”

Something in his son’s voice made Sergey freeze. He surveyed the yard, the old house, his ex-wife’s face—and suddenly said:

“You… you’ve settled in nicely here. Can I come in for a minute? Have some tea?”

Anna hesitated for just a second:

“Come in. I just baked a pie. With apples.”

On Sunday evening, when Sergey returned the kids, he seemed even more lost. The kids, on the other hand, glowed with happiness—two days in the city with their father, full of entertainment and gifts, had returned their previous carefree nature.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked when the kids ran into the house to show Grandma Polina their new toys.

They walked to the old apple tree—the very one under which they had recently found the safe, now safely hidden in the basement.

“Anna, I…” Sergey began, hesitating. “I’ve been thinking a lot these days. About us, about the kids. About what happened.”

She was silent, looking somewhere past him.

“Valeriya… We broke up,” he suddenly blurted out. “It was a mistake from the start. I thought I was suffocating in our marriage, that I needed novelty, brightness. But when I saw you here, I realized I lost the most important thing.”

“And what is that?” she asked quietly.

“Family. Home. You,” he looked her straight in the eyes. “I want to get it all back. To have you return to the city. To our apartment.”

Anna looked at the man she had loved for ten years. Handsome, successful, confident. Now he looked so lost. Before, she would have given anything to hear these words. But now…

“Sergey,” she calmly said. “We won’t return to the city. At least, not yet.”

“What? Why?” He seemed genuinely shocked. “It’s emptiness here! The village is slowly dying, the school is ten kilometers away, there’s no work…”

“Everything will change soon,” Anna replied with a slight smile. “I’m creating a museum. A small, private one. And I’ve been offered to restore the local library. Maybe I’ll start teaching again—run a literature club for children from neighboring villages.”

“But… where are the funds? How are you organizing all this?” His voice sounded bewildered.

Anna looked at the ground under their feet—dark, fertile, keeping its secrets.

“You once said that I should show independence,” she gently reminded him. “So, I’m showing it. I have… opportunities. More than you think.”

Sergey was silent, clearly not understanding what was happening.

“I’m not saying ‘never,'” she added, softening her tone. “I’m saying ‘not yet.’ The kids are doing well here. They’re in fresh air, learning to work, seeing the results of their efforts. Kirill smiled for the first time in a long time. Alyosha stopped being afraid of nature. And Masha… didn’t you notice how her curls play in the sun?”

“And what are you suggesting?” There was hurt in his voice. “That I move here? To the wilderness?”

“Why?” she was surprised. “Your business is in the city. But you can come on weekends. Continue to be part of their lives. Part of our lives. And we’ll decide together from there.”

He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. In front of him was no longer the former Anna—soft, submissive, constantly doubting. She had become someone else: confident, calm, with an inner light he couldn’t explain.

“You’ve changed,” he finally admitted.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Perhaps it had to be this way.”

A year later

Anna stood at the entrance to the new museum, welcoming another group of tourists. “The History of the Levitsky Family,” read the sign above the ancient log house, restored from archival drawings.

“Welcome to Lipovka,” she warmly greeted guests from the capital. “Our museum tells a story of how treasures can wait not only in the ground but also in the roots of a family…”

Over the past year, Lipovka had transformed. New homes appeared where there had been abandoned plots. The old mill, thanks to a grant obtained through a history professor from the regional university, now operated as a museum complex. A cozy cafe-library opened in Anna’s house, where locals gathered in the evenings for readings and discussions.

She officially reported the treasure find a month after the first coin. An archaeological expedition that came to Lipovka found not only the safe but other valuables hidden by the Levitsky family from the Bolsheviks. Half of the treasures by law went to the state, the other half—to Anna as the landowner.

The money from the sale of part of the gold was invested in the development of the village. Together with like-minded people, she created a fund for the restoration of historical heritage. Interest in the history of the Levitskys attracted tourists and then investors.

“And here is the main exhibit of our museum,” she pointed to a glass showcase, where lay a worn diary. “This is Alexander Levitsky’s notebook, found along with the treasures. He wrote: ‘My wealth will bring no joy to those who seek only material gain. But it will change the life of those who see in it a chance to build a future.'”

The tourists carefully examined the exhibits. From the next room came the voice of Kirill—a thirteen-year-old boy who had become a true connoisseur of Lipovka’s history and conducted tours for children’s groups.

Sergey’s black SUV appeared on the road precisely at three o’clock in the afternoon, as always. Now he came every Friday after lunch and left late on Sunday evening. Although Anna offered him to stay at the house, he preferred a room at Polina Ivanovna’s: “We need to move step by step.”

Their relationship was gradually restored—through conversations, joint walks, work on the land, family evenings. Sergey, who had once been uncomfortable with rural simplicity, discovered a new passion: crafting, working with his hands, spending time with the kids without urban hustle.

“Hello,” he smiled, approaching the museum. “How’s my favorite director?”

“Great,” she replied, extending a hand, which he carefully grasped. “Today we received a letter from the Ministry of Culture. We’ve been included in the ‘Golden Ring of Small Towns’ tour.”

“Congratulations!” he rejoiced. “That’s great news! By the way, remember the eco-tourism project? Investors agreed. We’ll be building glamping by the lake.”

They walked along the village street, now paved with cobblestones and decorated with young linden trees. They talked about business, kids, plans. Like old friends. Like partners. And possibly, as people ready to start anew.

“Seryozha, do you ever regret?” she suddenly asked, stopping by the old apple tree, under which their new journey had once begun. “That everything turned out this way?”

He pondered, looking at the blossoming branches.

“I regret the pain caused,” he honestly admitted. “I regret my blindness and selfishness. But I don’t regret that we ended up here. Sometimes you need to lose something to realize how valuable it is.”

Anna smiled, looking at the ground under the apple tree. This land had given her not only material wealth but something much more important—strength, confidence, a new beginning.

“Mom! Dad!” came the children’s voices. “Hurry up! Uncle Viktor brought new seedlings for our garden!”

Anna and Sergey looked at each other and, as if by an invisible signal, took hands.

Beneath their feet, the earth held many more secrets. But the most precious gold was not what remained in the basement. The true treasure was their new life—for them, for the children, for the entire revived village.

The old apple tree, remembering several generations of the family, quietly rustled its leaves, as if nodding in approval. Their choice was right.